


My Claim

by Ice_the_Irken



Category: Epithet Erased (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Guns, Injury, cursing, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29013270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice_the_Irken/pseuds/Ice_the_Irken
Summary: At that moment time seemed to slow, most likely from the dreading fear that these were going to be his last moments, his heart was racing but his legs refused to. Everything was so vivid, so clear, the uncomfortable feeling of the grit beneath him digging into his skin, the putrid smell coming from the dumpsters in the alley, the blood and fear pulsing through his ears, the sound of his and his soon-to-be-killers’ rapid breath, the rapidly approaching footsteps-
Kudos: 8





	My Claim

All Ramsey could hear was his feet slamming on the pavement as he ran, each step sending shockwaves through his legs too painful for him to bear, but they were numb now, everything was numb besides the blind panic and the adrenaline pulsing just behind his eyes and ears keeping him going. The ends of his limbs started to grow cold as the blood poured from his stomach, causing both stabbing and numb pain to crawl through his body, but he kept running; that’s all he knew how to do.

Ramsey rounded a corner, then another, dashing and darting, twisting and turning, dropping and rising, changing directions rapidly, jumping over rooftops, ducking into shrubs and through holes half his size in several fences, pulling off maneuvers he didn’t know he could do, all like a rat being chased by a cat. The different parts of the city sidewalks and rooftops blurred together as he ran, whether that was from his speed or his growing dizziness from the blood loss, he didn’t know, but he never slowed. At this point he didn’t know where he was, but he kept running. This was the _one_ night he _wished_ there were people up and out after dark and lurking the streets while he was there, but there was no one, no one to hear him, no one to see anything, no one to help, no witnesses, he was alone.

Suddenly, Ramsey fell, misjudging the distance between two rooftops, his foot fell down between the gap and the rest of his body fell with it, smashing his nose on the edge of the next building, his body fell through the large gap, hitting several things on his way down.

Several seconds passed. Ramsey laid face-up on his back, dazed and bleeding; he didn’t remember hitting the ground.

Distantly, Ramsey heard and felt the dim vibration of something landing next to him through the concrete floor of the alley, but he wasn’t lucid enough to really comprehend the danger that represented, until he felt hands grasp at his chest and throw his body against the wall. Ramsey felt a yelp leave him as his back hit brick, and his body tensed back up from its limp state at the impact.

Ramsey peeked his eyes open again after having instinctively clenched them shut in fear, and found that his vision was much more blurry than before; he couldn't really make out anything, just basic shapes and colors.

Ramsey looked around obtusely, barely able to remember why, and after a few seconds, finally caught sight of his attacker: a male figure in a shady trench-coat standing in front of him, wielding a pistol by his side. Ramsey couldn’t make out the mans’ face, his vision was too blurry and he was losing so much blood his mind could barely focus; the man was just shapes and colors now.

“You pissed off the wrrooonng people, Murdoch.” The man’s voice was a lazy but threatening drawl. It wasn’t news to Ramsey, he figured that when they sent the man in front of him, a hired hitman, to kill him.

He’d screwed another company with his usual golden plots. They deserved it after all; they don’t care about people or their lives. The fact that they thought the loss of a couple hundred grand was worth taking someone’s life just proved his point.

Ramsey shimmied up the wall a bit in defiance and started turning the area of his stab wound into gold; it was depleting what little remained of his stamina, but he had no other choice; he was losing too much blood. The hitman smirked at Ramsey’s desperate effort.

“Trying to use your gold-powers to weasel out of consequences again, eh?” He lazily swayed the pistol by his side with a little more emphasis. Ramsey’s body instinctively fought to turn the rest of his body to gold as a defense mechanism. Eying Ramsey up and down as the metal slowly spread, the hitman’s smirk grew wider and he spoke in a condescending tone as he looked down upon the wheezing criminal, “Oh Murdoch~” he cooed, his smirk growing into an all-out grin as he raised his foot, “we both know that gold is one of the most _malleable_ metals!” He stomped on Ramsey’s out-stretched leg, leaving a foot-shaped dent in the now golden appendage. Ramsey screamed in pain, but as for the man, if he was hurt by stomping on metal with all his might, he didn’t show it.

The hitman held his smile, gazing the writhing man in front of him up and down, taking pleasure in his agony. He slowly holstered his pistol and opened up his coat as he drawled on again,

“Don’t you think I would have prepared for your tricks Murdoch? After all, I was hired by the people you screwed over with that exact same Epithet.” The man pulled a tool from his trenchcoat, a hybrid of a hammer and an axe, a blade on one side and instead of just a flat edge on the other, the head of a hammer stuck out of the other side; it was a work tool, not built for murders, but in this case, it would get the job done.

The man flipped the tool in his hand, the hammer side now ready for use, and raised it above his head, ready to strike it down and leave a dent in Ramsey’s skull.

Ramsey closed his eyes, fearful of the blow. At that moment time seemed to slow, most likely from the dreading fear that these were going to be his last moments, his heart was racing but his legs refused to. Everything was so vivid, so clear, the uncomfortable feeling of the grit beneath him digging into his skin, the putrid smell coming from the dumpsters in the alley, the blood and fear pulsing through his ears, the sound of his and his soon-to-be-killers’ rapid breath, the rapidly approaching footsteps-

There was a yelp, and it took Ramsey several seconds to finally comprehend that it didn’t come from him. He slowly opened his eyes, squinting in fear of being hit, and saw the man that had just tried to kill him on his knees with his hands in the air in surrender.

Ramsey’s brow furrowed in confusion, it taking him a few seconds to realize that another figure now stood close behind his attempted murderer, as the only light that illuminated them in the shadows of the alleyway came from the glowing yellow triangles accenting their eyes.

The hitman didn’t dare move against the barrel of a gun Zora had pressed against his ear.

“Now now, we know this gun can’t kill ya, _but_ ,” Zora drawled, pausing her sentence to slowly push the hammer of the pistol down until it gave an audible click, “ah’m sure it won’t feel too nice having a bullet shoot down yer’ ear-drum, don’tchya think?”

The man didn’t answer; he was too afraid to. Zora didn’t appreciate his silence. She pressed the gun further against his head and snarled,

“Yew better answer me when I talk t’ ya’, _boy!_ If ya’ really need a _lethal_ threat, I _def’nitely_ got those!” When she finished her sentence, orange Sundials manifested in the air all around them, hovering menacingly. “Y' want _these_?”

“No!” The fear in the hitman’s voice was evident in his shout. Zora’s eyes squinted in a glare, and after a few seconds, she threw the arm wrapped around the man’s neck away, releasing him suddenly. Zora whirled around to the front of the man and pointed her pistol to the middle of his forehead.

“Good...” Zora snarled again. “Now... _‘GIT!_ ”

The man wasted no time in scrambling to his feet and turning heel, disappearing out of the alley with the vigor of a man running for his life.

The only sounds echoing through the alley now were heavy breathing. Ramsey laid still, shocked at what just took place in front of him.

“Uh, th-thank y-” Ramsey’s voice caught in his throat as Zora whirled around and pointed her pistol at _his_ forehead.

“Don’t think this is me growin’ soft on ya’ rat-ass; Ah just ain’t lettin’ no _nobody_ steal _MAH’_ claim!”

Ramsey audibly gulped down the saliva pooling in his mouth from his anxiety as he questioned his life choices for the third time that week.

**Author's Note:**

> anoddlygentleman asked epitheterasedgen "Now I can't help but imagine that Zora is overly protective of Ramsey only because she wants to be the one to kill him. Like she'll save him from an assassin only to say when asked why "I ain't gonna let some nobody steal MY claim!" followed by Ramsey reevaluating his life choices for the third time that week." on Tumblr, and it inspired this fic.


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